


...Of Mice and Coroners

by Medie



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2010-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They plan for dinner and dancing; they end up with take out and something a little dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...Of Mice and Coroners

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/)' latest porn battle.

"I hear you're seeing someone," she says when he walks in. The comment's playful and her smile just this side of sweet. Nobody else but him sees the edge, or hears the subtext, but Lanie's used to that. She does her job right, nobody is supposed to. If she does her job right, she examines, she reports, she occasionally testifies, and no one really sees.

She always does her job right.

His cheeks flood with heat, gaze dropping, and there's an earnestness to his reply that actually counts as endearing. Lanie didn't think anybody living in this city for more than five seconds could claim that one anymore. That's the thing about Richard Castle, nothing she thinks usually applies.

Lanie likes that. It's been a long time since anyone could surprise her.

"I _swear_," Rick says, "I don't -- "

Laughing, Lanie takes his chin in her hand and pulls his mouth to hers. When she pulls away, his lips are puckered and wearing more of her lipstick (Lasting Lust, fitting) than she is. "I know," she says, "but it's fun watching you squirm."

He laughs, the panic bleeding out of his gaze. "You're a dangerous lady, Lanie Parish."

"Mmhmm, you know it," she says and turns around. "Since you're late, and we're in a hurry, zip me up?" She glances back with a stern look. "No funny business."

Rick's expression is all innocence. "Me? Funny? I am so not funny. Ask Alexis. I believe the terms excruciating and inhuman were uttered and she was not joking."

"You are funny," Lanie says. "Like how when I say zip up, you think pull down?"

His knuckles brush her back, making her shiver, as he takes the zipper in hand. "It's not my fault this much skin on display does things to my comprehensive skills." Rick leans forward and kisses her shoulder, lips lingering. "This dress is _amazing_ on you."

She leans back, lets him hold her up, and laughs. "But it would look better on the floor?"

"Well, the thought had crossed my mind," Rick demurs. "It's a very nice floor. Granted, it can't hold a candle to you, but that's precisely the point. You totally outshine this dress. On the floor the dress can come into its own and truly shine in all it's designer glory."

Lanie laughs. "It's a knockoff."

"You'd never know it," he says, sounding like he means it. He does, of course. It's a part of Rick's charm that, beneath the playboy and the cynic, there's someone special at work. She loves every little glimpse that she gets as much as she loves the quiet awe which fills his gaze every time she returns the favor.

The zipper starts to reverse course, and she grins. Sometimes, the playboy and the cynic pull rank and the someone special gets locked up for the night.

"Richard -- "

"Oh, right, you said _up_," he says. "Totally my bad."

"You are not getting out of this, Mister," she warns, laughing. "You promised me a proper date and we are having a proper date." It's become a joke with them. They've technically been a 'thing' for a while, but somehow they never quite make it out the door.

The first time she got paged to a crime scene.

The second time so did he.

The third? Well, she'd come off a double, he'd sent his latest chapters to his editor, and they were both overtired, buzzed on caffeine, and he'd forgotten to shave that morning. Lanie's always liked her guys a little fuzzy. Se hadn't _meant_ to just jump him, but he'd smiled and then she'd smiled. From there, it's obvious much how it went.

It's pretty much how it always goes. They plan for dinner and dancing; they end up with take out and something a little dirty.

Lanie doesn't mind it a little dirty. Most days, her life's just a little too sterile, too controlled, and a little dirty's just what the doctor ordered.

Sometimes, though, a girl just wants to go dancing.

"Oh, we are going to have a proper date," he assures. His lips brush her ears as he whispers, "I wanna show you off."

His breath is hot on her skin and, for the second time, Lanie shivers. "Rick Castle, you are not going to distract me."

"No?" he spins her around. Her dress flares out around her legs and, in the next second, Lanie finds herself being whirled around her tiny apartment. "Dated a dance instructor when I was eighteen," he says, grinning. "Mom was _furious_."

Lanie laughs. "Why?"

"Delia was thirty-five," Rick grins. He dips her, swirls her back upright, and kisses her soundly. "I was madly in love, but my mother just didn't understand."

"Mm, can't imagine why," Lanie says. She slides hands down his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath one palm, and smiles. "You owe that woman flowers every day for the rest of her life, you know that, right?"

"That I do," he agrees. "However, she's taking it out in gray hair instead." He tips his head. "See?"

"Poor baby," Lanie says. She kisses the top of his head and then ducks out of his arms. "Better get my coat." She grins at his disappointed look and does a quick step around the sofa and the coffee table on her way to the coat rack. "So where are we going?"

Rick helps her slide into her coat. His fingers lift her curls from beneath her collar, sliding down her shoulders, and Lanie bites her lip. Dinner. Dancing. _Date_.

"Oh hell," she mutters and turns. He looks surprised when her body hits his, tipping him backward onto the couch, but Rick's nothing if not good at improvisation.

He lets out a theatrical 'oof' then laughs when she smacks his shoulder.

"You even _think_ of gloating," she says, "and this is over fast." She rocks back to tug her coat off and try unzipping her dress.

"You keep that up, Lanie, this'll be over faster than that," he warns. His hands take hold of her waist, holding her still as he sits up. "And I swear, no gloating, just a sweet sense of satisfaction that, once again, I have proven irresistible."

"Try that one again, handsome," Lanie warns. She lets him pull her dress over her head and smiles, smug, when his breath catches. The way he looks at her every time her clothes come off is never going to get old.

"True," he says, leaning forward. The cold of the night is still hanging on him, chilling her, as he dusts kisses over her collarbone. She curls fingers into his overcoat and he drops his hands to let her push it off. "God, you are so gorgeous."

"Flatterer," Lanie teases. She rocks her hips forward, down onto him, grinding slow and sweet through his pants.

He grunts, strangled, moving up into her. She laughs, kisses him, and then goes for his shirt. His skin is warm beneath her palms as she skims down and up, tweaking a nipple on her way.

"Bad girl," he says around a gasp.

"You know it," she agrees.

With his arms are free, his hands cup her breasts through the satin of her bra, and his eyes meet hers with a gleam. "Blue," he murmurs. "I like it." His lips trace the edge of the fabric, then its sliding down her arms. "Matches the dress."

She watches it sail through the air, disappearing behind the couch, and then grins at him. "You realize you have to find all that later, right?"

"Yup," he agrees. Her panties take a different path, but disappear just as quickly. "I also promise breakfast. Homemade. French toast."

"Waffles," Lanie says. She stretches out, pressing down against him, her smile wicked. "Whipped cream _and_ strawberries. Blueberries too, if you're up to it."

His belt slides free beneath her fingers, buttons flying open after that, and he's hot in her hand.

"Oh, I think I'm up to it," Rick says, head falling back. "God, Lanie, you're -- "

"Mmhmm, I most certainly am," she says. She finds the condom in his pocket and slowly slides it on. "Doesn't hurt that you notice though." She moves again, even slower, and sighs. "Next time, we do this in a bed. I am so not limber enough for this."

He laughs, breathless. "Believe me, you're doing fine from this angle."

She rolls her eyes, but has to admit, he doesn't look so bad himself. Stretched tight beneath her, head pressed back, chest rising and falling with every breath and lord, what a chest it is. "What'd I tell you about flattery?"

"Make sure it's only a little cheesy and, if Beckett hears me, you'll disavow everything?" He opens one eye, grinning at her wickedly. "I get it right?"

"Mostly," she taps his stomach with her fingertips, pleased by the way the muscles tighten in response. "I said if _Ryan_ hears you, I disavow everything. You know that boy's the biggest gossip that ever hit the NYPD." She settles into place, sliding down on him, and they both groan.

His hands skim her arms, fingers aiming for her curls, and she goes with it. The kiss is slow, gentle, a counterpoint to the lazy slip-glide of her her body on his. They always start this way, like they've got all the time in the world, and build from there.

She knows, before long, his hips will snap up into hers, driving deep, and she'll bite her lip to keep from screaming. His fingers will find their way to her clit, teasing, pushing, demanding more until she's shaking her way through an orgasm with another right on its heels. She knows he'll flip them over and, maybe, they'll end up on the floor with her coming so hard she all but sees stars.

Lanie nips at his lower lip, moves just a little faster, and her smile's impish. "You still owe me dinner, Richard Castle," she says, rising up again.

His eyes come open, watching her with rapt attention, and he smiles. "Deal."


End file.
